


I'll Take Care of You

by sssammich



Category: All My Children
Genre: Complete, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-15
Updated: 2008-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssammich/pseuds/sssammich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bianca loves Maggie Stone for everything that she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take Care of You

You love Maggie Stone.

 

Stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone.

 

A hell of a lot more than you ever thought you could ever love anybody.

 

This thought puts a giant smile on your face. You lie in bed, snuggled in the covers and you think about just how much your heart beats for that woman.

 

Then you ask yourself, how could it not beat for her. It doesn’t matter when, where or how, but Maggie Stone ends up taking care of you and your daughter, Miranda. As valiant as your efforts are for returning the favor, she has this uncanny way of knowing just what you need.

 

Take this morning, for example. You wake up with the intent of making breakfast because it’s Waffle Wednesday only to smell the aroma of waffle fill your nostrils. You look to your right and find that side already empty. It didn’t take you long to figure out her whereabouts. So you get up and walk into your kitchen to find the loves of your life singing along to Sesame Street. You can’t help but smile as your heart explode a little bit with joy. Then you think to yourself, you can always make breakfast tomorrow.

 

You snuggle even closer into your covers and hug the pillow, inhaling the scent of lilac-lavender shampoo that you know so well. Of course you know it so well, it was yours in the beginning, when you two were still just friends. Then she borrowed some and you discovered that it smelled much better on her, buying an extra bottle each time so she’d never run out. Even now, she couldn’t possibly run out, you bought four extra bottles stored in the bathroom closet.

 

After getting comfortable, your mind starts to wander again, but this time it goes back to the very beginning, when you first thought she was Frankie. You thought you loved her then because of Frankie, but that wasn’t all true and you knew it. There had always been something about her. She didn’t have to meet you at Myrtle’s, but stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone did. She cared for her sister, but she also cared for you.

 

Then you two formed a friendship that could easily have been written in a soap opera. You chuckle a little with a shake of your head because you realize that the two of you had really horrible timing. Really, _really_ horrible timing When you were confessing your love, she was running away from it. When it was her turn to confess, it was your turn to speed away. But even through it all, Maggie Stone took care of you. And Miranda. When all was said and done, she was willing to abandon everything in her life just to be there for you, best friend or not. You had always come first. You’ve always come first because stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone would not allow anything else. And you deem yourself damn lucky because of it.

 

Even when it nearly destroyed your own heart, you still consider yourself lucky to have been loved by Maggie Stone. She told you countless times how it was you that have made her feel like she truly was somebody in the world, believing in her to become a doctor and succeeding in life, no matter what happened. She told you countless times that she was the lucky one for having been given all the chances to love you. You knew she felt so vulnerable then, so you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you’d give her more chances than she’ll ever need because you know she’d never give up. You knew, after a long time that stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone would never give up. You wanted to, for a while, because it looked like she quit. But she didn’t and you realized that. She was in it for the long haul and she wanted to know if you were, too. So she fought long and hard, costing her even more. And you saw this. If she could give a little, so could you. It was only fair that you didn’t give up, either. It was back to square one. The two of you were there for a while, almost wondering if there would ever be a square two.

 

Eventually, square two came. Then three. Then four. Each time, Maggie Stone fought hard. You hug the pillow harder because you knew, from the very beginning, when Maggie Stone was only Frankie’s twin sister, she always had to fight. Once your friendship deepened, so did the extent to which she was willing to share about her war wounds and battle scars. Ever since then, all you wanted to do was fight for her and take care of her. But stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone always found a way to turn the tables. It frustrated you sometimes because you want to look out for her. You want to fight her battles when she can’t, but she won’t let you. Stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone refuses to let you because she’d rather you keep your hands soft and gentle while hers turned callous and rough. She told you it was her sacrifice to make after you gave her another chance.

 

You tried to tell her that you want to take care of her, too, but she, stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone gave you something to think about. She asked you, “You want to take care of me?” with which you mutely nod to. “Hold me close each night,” she said. You held your hand out and told her it was a deal. She took your hand and instead of shaking it, she pulled you close saying, “That’s not how you make deals around here,” before planting a searing kiss on your lips. She left you breathless but you didn’t care, you’d never felt more alive.

 

It’s nearing two in the morning now and you’re still wide awake, trying to find comfort under the covers. You remember that kiss and your porcelain cheeks tint a little, remembering the sensation of having her lips pressed against yours. It never ceases to amaze you. Each kiss she plants on you is different. One day it’s soft and gentle, the next it’s hungry and rough. Each kiss she plants on you forms a garden in your heart that blossoms more and more every day. At one point, you wonder if your heart will explode into a million little flower petals. But you figure, it wouldn’t matter, it would have been more beautiful than the Garden of Eden ever could.

 

It’s 2 A.M. and you hear the front door unlock.

 

She’s home.

 

To you.

 

Moments later, a small blonde woman with tired eyes and a vibrant smile greets you. Your heart beats so fast, it starts rising from your chest to your throat and all you can do is smile back. She walks to the closet to put her things away, taking her time and you roll your eyes. She’s stalling. You two keep quiet while you patiently wait on the bed, putting the scented pillow back to its place. You don’t need that anymore, you have the real thing. She pulls the covers and lies next to you.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

“I’ll make breakfast tomorrow, B.”

 

You nod and smile, letting your lover take care of you. But now, it’s your turn. You intertwine your hand with hers and you kiss it. “I love you, Maggie Stone.” She kisses your lips, a little different than the one this morning.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

She turns around with her back facing you and you snuggle closer, still getting a whiff of the faint shampoo she lathered on this morning. You kiss the crook of her neck and you hold onto her tighter.

 

It’s your turn to take care of her tonight. You’d stay up for as long as it takes if it meant that you got to do what she did for you every day. You found out long ago that stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone was not perfect. But she did a damn well job doing her best at taking care of you. You place your lips near her ear and you whisper something that makes her pull you into her closer.

 

“I’ll take care of you tonight, even if just in your dreams.”

 

She turns her head and looks at you with her tired eyes that still held a glint of mischief.

 

“My dream is you make breakfast tomorrow and _not_ burn it,” she says before giving you another kiss. You laugh and hold her tighter.

 

Later that night, you dream of an explosion of petals raining down in your kitchen where, standing in the middle, making funny-shaped waffles is your daughter singing her ABCs beside stubborn, hard-headed, loveable Maggie Stone.


End file.
